“And Here We Have Idaho…”

March 18, 2010

I must admit to feeling a little remiss about how much I botched our State Song, And Here We Have Idaho, in my last blog. Thank you, Wendy, for commenting and fleshing out more words to the chorus. I thought the word ‘grain’ was gonna be right-on, since it rhymed with ‘fame’ and all, and this being Idaho, but, my bad. The word was … ‘flame’, eh, name?

I was discussing with my husband, how I botch the State song, and he replied, “Okay, so what is the Idaho State Motto?”

“Uh … How would I know?” was my obvious reply.

“Well, it’s on the State Seal, which you walked over on the rug at the Capitol, then photographed, uploaded to your blog, and wrote about.” he said.

“Really!”

“Yes. For your information it is ‘Esta Perpetua.’ And what is the Idaho State flower?” he asked, leaning over his iphone.

“I don’t know. I think it’s white, or maybe yellow.” I said. “Not a dogwood, for sure.” I was trying to sound as intelligent as I could, but it was becoming clear that something was awry. He was poring over some site he’d googled on his iphone …

“The State Flower is the syringa.”

“So, what are you looking at?” I asked. I wasn’t going to be answering any more of his inquiries about Idaho State’s ‘this’ and ‘that’ under these circumstances.

“Wikipedia.”

Of course. But I’m too slow with my iphone to get to any link with Idaho symbols in time to be up to speed in this conversation.

But I did find a link containing Idaho symbols for my blog … in case you are interested. Would be good to have some of these symbols ready to roll off your tongue if you are planning to run for an Idaho public office, or something.

Or if you think you may find yourself at a Graduation or some other event where you have to sing the state song and you don’t want to be ‘la-la-la-ing’ it, or making it up as you go, you can find the words at this link.

Ah, well, to totally redeem myself, here are both verses to the chorus:

And here we have Idaho,
Winning her way to fame.
Silver and gold in the sunlight blaze,
And romance lies in her name.

Singing, we’re singing of you,
Ah, proudly too. All our lives thru,
We’ll go singing, singing of you,
Singing of Idaho.

And here’s one more picture I took of our fine State Capitol Building:

Now, quick! What is the Idaho State Fossil?

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The Boise Capitol

March 16, 2010

David and I stole away from St. Luke’s hospital in Boise for a couple of hours to grab lunch downtown, and visit the Capitol Building. It had just re-opened after a $120 million, 2 1/2-year face-lift. (Hmm, that puts things in perspective. My face-lift would cost pennies in comparison, a good selling point to convince my husband to agree to let me do it – if I present it right: “Some face-lifts cost $120 million whereas mine would only be …”)

Anyway, We were walking toward the Capitol building and I shot a photo …

… while freezing my butt off, because a cold front had moved in and Boise felt just like … Idaho Falls. And I hadn’t brought my winter coat. Stupid! What was I thinking? Spring?

So we walked really fast. Moments later we were inside…

and up on the third floor, looking down…

I have to say, I was impressed! I don’t recall ever having visited a State Capitol building before, but this was about as magnificent as I could imagine any Capitol building to be.

It made me proud to be an Idahoan. Here we have the Great Seal of Idaho:

And the Idaho State Song, which goes like this:

“And here we have Idaho, winning her way to fame. La-la-la-la-la- LA-LA-aaaa, la-la-la … la-la … grain(?)”

Okay, so I only remember the first line. Oh well, that’s predictable, seeing as I learned it in High School.

Here we are overlooking the Senate Gallery:

They had been in session that morning and were now in committee or something. We passed a few of our state reps and senators in the hallways, and seeing them made me feel under-dressed. But then, I’m just an ordinary Idaho citizen.

Although, touring the Capitol building, checking out the House and Senate Galleries, passing by the Governor’s office, hanging out on those balconies where you could gaze up at that magnificent rotunda, made me want to go into politics. For about 10 seconds.

Here we are on the first floor looking up …

at the Capitol’s rotunda – with the daylight illuminating the high columns of windows.

I pointed my camera straight up over my head to photograph the ceiling of the rotunda:

And got myself all dizzy and nearly stumbled over backwards. It would have been … embarrassing! I could have fallen on top of somebody, because other visitors, including my husband, were lying on their backs on that floor, three stories below the rotunda, taking photos.

So if you’re in Boise, and have a couple of hours free for lunch and a walk downtown, go visit the Capitol building.

Oh! And see if somewhere in the building you can find the words to our State Song.

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Boise – Here We Come!

March 14, 2010

We knew last September that Megan would need surgery to repair the collapsed arch in her left foot and to loosen the heel cords on both legs – which would land her in a wheel chair with casts on both legs for six weeks.

The surgery was scheduled for Monday, March 8, at St. Luke’s Hospital in Boise – about a 275-mile drive from our home in Idaho Falls. We had plenty of time to prepare. Albeit, the time passed quickly, and we were suddenly faced with getting our butts in gear on this!

For starters, we located a portable large metal ramp so we could get her over the front step. Then David built a ramp for our fabulous circa mid-sixties sunken living room. Hey! Those sunken living rooms were the cat’s meow back then, granted, not a brilliant interior feature if you’re confined to a wheelchair, and not so regal with a large slab of raw plywood leading you down into the sunken room.

But anyway, we located a wheelchair for Megan with large back wheels that would enable her to propel herself. Except it wouldn’t fit through the bathroom door. So we took the door off and hung a curtain. But the wheelchair still wouldn’t fit. So we bought a second, much smaller wheelchair – a transport chair. It does make it through the curtained doorway! Now that’s progress! Megan tried it out:

Perfect! Check out that custom ramp in the background – leading into our aforementioned living room.

We decided to replace the old faucet in our main floor half-bath with a new high-falutin’ faucet we purchased at Lowe’s that included a pull-out shower head. And we hired a plumber to install it – a good plumber, one we had used several times in the past. He gave an enthusiastic ‘thumb’s up’ to our newly purchased faucet and proceeded to install it – ripped out the original faucet, but then forthwith emerged from the bathroom spewing profuse apologies and explanations. Apparently, although the faucet we had bought was standard, our ‘sixties’ sink “wasn’t.” So the new faucet wouldn’t work and the original one, unfortunately, was ruined.


Don’t turn on the water! Oh wait! You can’t.

The three holes on the top surface are supposed to be the same size – you can’t install a hose in that middle ‘stopper lifter’ hole! Great. How could you know this unless you were the one who had tiled the sink in – 45 years ago? So now we had no functioning sink. We had effectively downgraded our ‘half-bath’ to a sink-less ‘quarter-bath’ just in time for her surgery. But don’t worry. David was on it. He would come up with something.

Now was our last chance before surgery to check out the mall. Spring had arrived in all the shops! A little early.

Megan bought a new winter coat.

Sunday March 7, 12:30 PM – we hit the road for Boise- across I-15 with the cruise control set at ’80’. Here we are turning onto I-86 just before Pocatello, about 40 minutes into our drive. The weather in the foreground appears almost balmy! Yeah, right.

At the time we were listening to a song from Megan’s Jordan Sparks’ CD… “It’s a Battlefield…Battlefield…Battlefield..” Really? That should make the three-hour drive ahead of us interesting …

We drove and drove, with the music blasting, stopping to gas up and grab a taco on the go. Finally we found ourselves within 30 miles of Boise –

No, that wouldn’t be me driving alongside David and Megan on my motor bike. Although I did wonder at the time, looking out my front passenger window as we passed, what the wind chill feels like blasting against your head at 75 mph in 48-degree weather. Tough biker chick, there, following behind her two male biker buddies, both wearing helmets. Maybe she put off planning her trip till the last minute and forgot her helmet, or maybe she’s just more macho than those wimpy guys wearing helmets of all things.

4:10 pm now and we’re trying to locate the Hampton Inn in downtown Boise. That is, David is trying to locate it. I have a horrible sense of direction and can’t read the signs any quicker than he can, even if he is driving. Plus, I’ve got my i-phone out – hot to photograph something … Oh! We are passing Boise State! Quick! “Click!”

Now those are some fine cement pots! In such a straight line. Okay, honey, so, no … I don’t see the sign for the motel or where we need to turn … Um …

Oh, it’s the Stadium – home of the Broncos!

– weren’t they ranked number four in the nation, in college football last season? “GO DAWGS!” Huh? Hey! We’re die-hard Georgia Bulldog fans! And our son who graduated from UGA would have plenty to say about Boise’s ranking and the teams they didn’t play, like UGA and other teams in the SEC.

Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah, so we’ve checked into our motel, thanks to David’s fine navigation, and we are now walking downtown in pursuit of dinner:

Whoa! We should move here! It’s a good 10 degrees warmer and the tulips are already up and several inches tall! Well, they may be up in Idaho Falls too, but how would you know what’s going on underneath all that snow?

It was Oscar night. But we bagged out early. We had to be up at five!

We arrived at St. Luke’s Hospital Monday morning 6 am pronto:


(except it was dark then and this photo was taken at 10 AM!)

Megan was ready and so were we …

Always cheerful. What a trouper! At 7:35 she went into surgery. We waited …

…and paced a bit. David decided to …

cop some ZZZZZZZ’s – and I went on a quest to find some super leaded coffee – with real cream.

Dr. Showalter – the orthopedic surgeon, came out and talked with us at 9:15. All went well! She was up in her room on the 5th floor by 10:30. A little sleepy …

The staff were wonderful. Here you see her Physical therapist, Julie:


She helped us figure out how to transfer Megan and what additional equipment we needed at home.

Megan enjoyed her nurse, Becca:

who was almost as incessantly cheerful as Megan. Megan had great care at the hospital. And after two days, it was time to check out.

and head home again, which is another story…

With that big metal ramp for the front step, though, at least we knew we could get Megan up to the front door and into the house. And David had ordered another faucet (with a hose!) online that would likely work in that bathroom sink. Good thing he’s such a handy man. Life is good!

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Cabo-II

March 4, 2010

We’ve been back from our week in Cabo for 11 days and the sunshine and memories have to hold me through several more weeks of winter, otherwise known in Idaho as ‘spring’. So, for extra measure, I spent all last week, our first week back from Cabo, imagining that I was still in Cabo. I even started feeling all sad by last Wednesday, knowing that the extra imaginary week of our vacation in my head was already half over.

This week reality settled in. I was ready to forget Cabo and decided to ditch writing the Cabo-II blog with all those photos I took with my i-phone. That was … until I was messing with my phone today and happened upon this photo:

Is that you, Pooky?

What can I say? I had told you about Pee-Wee and mentioned his relatives, now, how could I not introduce you to his voyeuristic cousin ‘Pooky’- fanned out on my spoon, offering a full exposition of his ‘succulent’ legs. (There must be some scientific name for those suction cups.)

Oh, you’d rather see scenery, would you? Okay, here goes: My slide show of Cabo. Let me start with the view of the ocean from the chair I was sitting in while staring down at Pooky. We were eating lunch at the Seven Seas restaurant near San Jose Del Cabo:

After lunch we took a walk on the beach. Utopian! Except you gotta keep an eye out for those crashing waves if you prefer walking on the wet sand along the shoreline. They swell up on the the water in the distance, then come exploding in with an unexpected ferocity that sends them gliding much further up on the shore than you are prepared for…

I was wearing flip flops and a wave soared up to my knees and sucked my left flip flop off my foot on its way back out. But not to worry, the next wave delivered it right back to me. It was a challenge, flip-flopping along, trying to keep up with my husband, David, and brother, Eric, who wore tennies. Wet tennies.

We did lots of things that week in Cabo – some of them real, some imaginary. Like this boat ride out to the Pacific ocean:


We’re in a 40′ catamaran for a whale watching excursion out beyond the tip of the Baja Penninsula. Yet, for a minute, I imagined that we had come off that boat – the Princess Cruise line. If we had, we would have taken a small boat into shore to spend part of the day in Cabo San Lucas. Instead, we sailed on past the cruise ship out into the Sea of Cortez, where we spotted a baby hump-back whale with its mother. The baby was only a few days old and was leaping exuberantly out of the water, timing it just right so as not to be leaping up when I was clicking my camera.

I did have a little excursion on that cruise liner during my imaginary second week in Cabo, where I boarded the Princess and headed to Mazatlan.

Our group could have forked out 800 bucks or more and gone out at 6 AM on one of these fishing boats:

And if we’d gotten real lucky, we would have come back by 3 PM with one or more raised flags, announcing our catches we were hauling in for the day – such as dorado (mahi mahi), or sailfish, or marlin, or tuna, or … nothing – which resulted in your boat returning with no flags flying at all, even if you did pay the 800 bucks…

Not on our boat, esp. since we didn't go

And the pelicans are faithfully waiting for the catch to be hoisted up and weighed:

… and to grab some scraps when the fish are filleted:

Except, I refused to go fishing. So I sabotaged the whole idea. Hey! I get seasick. Plus, I look horrible at six in the morning, and I’m probably a witch, though one can’t be sure, because I’ve made it a point never to be up then, lest I find out for certain. Why take the chance?

I certainly did not go fishing, in my head, during my second week in Cabo.

We talked about owning a yacht, docking it here with the others:

But, well, a yacht all the way from …

Casper, Wyoming? How did they get it here?

We were always hungry for lunch and considering places to eat. Solomon’s Landing, near the docks, had great fish tacos:

Solomon's Landing

We discovered another restaurant for lunch, true to its name:

That's us, upstairs, behind those flowers

I took a photo of the view over those flowers on the second story deck where we were sitting …

…while waiting for our first round of giant, killer Margaritas. It was here that we celebrated Victor’s birthday, complete with serenade:

Stephanie and Victor -Do we have to listen to this even if it is Victor's birthday?

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you …,” sung in their finest Mexican accents, strumming two chords. “How about a love song?” Victor suggests.

And we drank more Margaritas than usual because it was Victor’s birthday …

… and his birthday reminded us of an old Beatles song, which we sang in unison all the way down the stairs and out the front door of the restaurant, because we were feeling really, really happy …

But we could still walk, so we went shopping at the grocery store:

We are disciplined about it:

We checked out some other shopping deals:

And entertainment options:

Then carried our loot home:

Melia Cabo Real Resort

It’s time for dinner now, and we’re headed back out into the balmy evening:

It’s 8:30 PM and we’re sitting in Victor’s favorite restaurant, Edith’s, whose culinary fare is fit for a king. Victor had made the reservation three days ago, and we felt lucky that they had squeezed us in before the end of our trip. Tonight was the feast to surpass all feasts! Order up the appetizers! Oh, but wait a minute, Jody … looks … pale. Says she feel’s a bit queasy. As in, she knows what’s in her stomach, of which she’s about to hurl, which would be ‘Pee-wee’ – that whole baby octopus, Pooky’s cousin, she ate in one piece at lunch at Seven Seas Restaurant overlooking the ocean a few hours earlier. So, no choice but to … bail Edith’s! Quickly! Head for the car! But wait, what about dinner? … Food fit for a king, is what we’re looking for? …

Victor Ate Here

Burger King comes to the rescue! The food was served fast enough to where Victor got Jody home just in time for the … well, you know… not-pretty scene involving her face, and the toilet, and loud convulsive sounds coming from the bathroom …

Alas, It is our final day. And I sit and take in the view from our balcony one last time before we check out of our resort:

Travel day. Good-bye to Cabo! – the southernmost tip of Baja California Sur. We are headed now to the airport in San Jose Del Cabo:

Time to board … and fly … and land … and get luggage … and drive…

Pulled into our driveway in Idaho Falls by 11 PM Sat. Feb 21. Temperature: 12 degrees.

Unpacked for a couple of days. And shivered. Geez! My blood must have thinned! Midway into last week, my imaginary second week in Cabo, I wandered outside and took this photo of our house:

Does this look like Cabo, Mexico?

And ran back to Cabo in my mind. I even considered planning a fishing trip in Cabo after I get back off the Princess cruise, returning from Mazatlan.

Okay, so today is Wednesday, March 3. Just another day. Except I came across Pooky, and a flood of great memories and fantasies washed over me, in the midst of my reality.

I took another picture this morning – this time out our front kitchen window…

That doesn’t look like the ocean to you, does it? Didn’t think so.

Hey! It’s a whopping 40 degrees! Is that rain?

I need to get out there and take down our Christmas lights. Okay … I’ll do it.

… But first, can I go on this Fiesta Cabaret Cruise …

…in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico? Please? Pretty Please?

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‘Cabo’

February 26, 2010

Okay, so I wasn’t going to blog to all my friends about my recent trip to Cabo, Mexico. I mean, who wants to hear about it, especially if you’re stuck in southeast Idaho or some other frozen northern clime your entire February (and perhaps your January, and March, and April, too, dagnabbit!).

But then … During lunch on the beach one day, mid-vacation, I lifted this thing up out of my seafood soup:

Heads or Tails?

Oh, a little sea creature. How cute! A baby octopus? Or is it a squid? I honestly don’t know. But “Pee-Wee” and three of his relatives were all floating around in my soup. Well now, how often does a person living in Idaho have a chance to eat fresh exotic seafood such as this? So I gave it a go:

The only way to eat it, I figured, was in one piece, head first, except the thing was too large to fit in my mouth:

And to be honest, I was well aware of the numerous suction cups running up and down those tentacles hanging out of my mouth. Like, you know, when I get those suction-cupped tentacles into my mouth are they, uh, gonna attach themselves to the inside of my cheek or something? So I sandwiched the rubbery, nearly tasteless sea creature securely between my jaws and gnawed on it like a rabid chipmunk, advanced the chewy glob toward the back of my throat – and quick! swallowed it. Whew! Of course, later that evening I ended up retching over the toilet with the dry heaves. Not sure what was going on in my digestive tract at that juncture, but all those violent contractions surely dislodged any wayward tentacles that could have attached themselves somewhere down the line. I don’t know. I don’t need to know, since I plan on never eating another thing like that, not its head, or tentacles, or any of it.

My husband, David, and I, and some relatives were staying at the Melia Cabo Real Resort near Cabo San Lucas on the tip of the Baja Penninsula. We enjoyed stopping in some of the local shops to check out souvenirs. Or shall I say, I enjoyed shopping. David preferred to wait outside, while I visited the shops.

David, waiting, while Jody shops

While shopping I came across scores of 12″ statues of this old, old woman, well, okay, an extremely old, old woman and extremely skinny, clothed in a floor-length gown with, uh, the face and hands of a skeleton. I was rather intrigued with the idea of buying her and displaying her at home in full view, so that when I walked past her I could remind myself that no matter how old I get, I will never look as old as she does. Comforting, you know? Like, I pictured myself at age 80, looking and feeling like I’m 110, but then looking at her and feeling, uh, younger, I guess. Well anyway, then I thought, if I came home from Mexico with her I couldn’t exactly display her in plain view, say, on our mantle or something. She just didn’t go with our decor. So I didn’t buy her. But I did meet her on the street – in life-sized form. This statue was a more jovial representation of her than what I had seen in the shops and I connected with her instantly. So I posed with her. See what you think:

Two fine-looking broads

Okay so I do look younger, right? Although she does look a tad more ‘robust’ than I. With a face as old as that, though, her boobs must be implants, otherwise they’d be sagging past her hips. I’d like this same artist to create his statue image of me. Considering what he augmented from ‘bare bones’ in his statue of her – my statue should end up with straight-out 38-DD boobs. Nice!

Anyway, what do you know, but, that same evening, while walking to a restaurant for dinner, I happened on another artist’s rendering of the skeletal woman, this time as a metal sculpture, and, what can I say? The connection was immediate:

The only thing missing is my straw hat

I stopped my sister dead in her tracks – to photograph me again beside ‘skeletal woman’ while the rest of our dinner party continued on their way. Then after we got the photo, my sister and I got lost on account of, at my urging, we went straight ahead when we were supposed to turn right, or something. And our husbands, now several blocks ahead of us, grew understandably alarmed at our unexpected disappearance. But they eventually backtracked, and we turned around because we knew we were lost, and in the end we all found each other again. So this time around the ol’ skeletal woman vibe was a little sketchy for us.

Which shouldn’t be surprising, based on what I learned about ‘skeletal woman’ after I got home and did some research. She is known as ‘Sante Muerte,’ which, uh, translates as ‘Saint Death.’ Well, no wonder I knew I’d always feel younger when I compared myself to her! Except for when I’m ten years buried in the grave. So why are there columns of Saint Death statues in the shops and propped around the sidewalks in Cabo, Mexico? Well, here is a link to learn about her, ‘The New God In Town,’ if you are interested.

According to this article in Wikipedia, images of Santa Muerte are generally individualistic and personal. No two are exactly the same. Sizes vary immensely from small images held in one hand to those requiring a pickup truck to move. Some people even have the image tattooed on their bodies.

The article continues, “All images are dressed either in long robes or (less commonly) long dresses, covered from head to feet with only the face and hands showing. This symbolizes how people hide their true selves from the rest of the world. The robe or dress covers the skeletal figure like flesh covers the bones of the living. Both are said eventually to fall away. The most common image is Santa Muerte in a robe, with a scythe in the right hand and the globe in the left.”

Well, I’m glad I didn’t cart a statue of Santa Meurta home to display on my living room mantle. I live with enough reminders of aging and impending death just looking at myself in the mirror. And anyway, I prefer the image of Santa Muerta in a bright sun dress with the gigantic boobs, sporting a huge smile next to me with my broad smile, flat chest, and bright shopping bag. Oh, and I noticed her exposed hands don’t sport liver spots. Oh that’s right, they fell away.

Okay so I’m totally putting a wrap on this – my blog about my week’s vacation to Cabo, Mexico. But wait a minute! I have about forty more photos to talk about! Well, maybe I’ll continue with my story in my next blog … in the meantime, I sure ain’t gettin’ any younger.
Now why did I have to bring that up?

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Baby, You Can Drive My Car

January 31, 2010

I drive a 2005 Toyota Avalon. There, I said it. It has been on my mind a lot lately. I drive one of those 2.3 million cars (in America alone) that have been identified by Toyota, that could have that, you know … spontaneous-uncontrolled-acceleration-of-up-to-100-mph-problem. Except my car hasn’t been recalled because Toyota doesn’t really know what to fix. Great. Toyota Motor Corp. has stopped selling and building eight models, because of this problem, having to admit that it is more than just floor mats getting in the way or even faulty gas pedals, although they have ordered millions of new gas pedals in preparation for …. what? (Since the supplier is shipping new pedals, but says Toyota admits they have caused no serious accidents or deaths.) … To convince themselves it’s not a faulty computer chip embedded in the electronics somewhere? I don’t know. It’s a pretty sad situation.

Well my Avalon has been a great car. Uh, except for a week ago last Wednesday, when I was breaking to bring my car to a stop at a major intersection, only the car didn’t even slow down, it kept plunging ahead at full speed, and to avoid the intersection I sailed over the curb, onto this island, where I took out a fire hydrant and stop sign. My car had to be towed away on account of the sign flew off its post (as did the fire hydrant) and the metal stump that was left standing impaled itself into the exhaust pipe underneath my car.

The damage didn’t look that bad on the outside and I was thinking I’d just get the car lifted off the stump with Godspeed, get out of the way of all the onlookers, and just drive off and live with the damage. Until I learned: A. The car was not driveable and B. The bid to fix it came in at $3200.00. Apparently no piece on the front of that car is replaceable for under $300.00, and several of them were damaged. Anyway, the car is fixed now and I learned a lot about what to do when you have an accident where you damage city property — call the police, your insurance agent, and the city, to come put the stuff on the island back up and calculate the cost for your insurance company (since you hopefully have full liabilily coverage). Oh yeah, and I called my husband first, actually, to tell me what to do and to please come to the scene of the accident, because he is always calm in situations like this, whereas I, on the other hand, tend to unhinge.

So if Toyota has quit selling and building my car on account of this, um, minor problem (?), should I really be driving it? A private firm said it had identified 275 crashes and 18 deaths because of sudden, uncontrollable acceleration in Toyotas since 1999. So what are the odds that mine would have the same problem? I’m no mathematician, but, considering how many millions of Toyotas have been on the road since 1999, with 275 crashes, the odds of mine having the same problem seems minutely miniscule, albeit the odds of my getting into an accident with it are, obviously, infinitely greater.

Nevertheless, I’ve been testing my gas pedal and it bounces back nicely after I press on it. I don’t know. I also intend to throw my car into neutral if it automatically starts accelerating and I notice at the same time it is spiraling out of control that my foot is not actually pressing on the gas pedal. Oh, and now I drive more carefully on snowy, slick roads. I take it real slow and easy on snowy mornings because I don’t want to slide through another intersection dusted with snow over black ice, like I did a week ago Wednesday.

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Wolf Moon Weekend

January 30, 2010

I saw it just after dark, yesterday evening. The wolf moon. It was one of the few clear nights we’ve had in January. I was driving in my car, headed east, just a few blocks from our house and there it was, hanging above the rooftops right in front of me, giant and luminous — the largest, brightest moon I have ever seen!! I didn’t think to try and capture a photo of it with my i-phone. But I bet I could have, it was so bright. I was headed to a funeral home for a “Celebration of Life” preceding the funeral today of a special friend.

I thought of that moon when I woke up this morning. I knew it was special. I looked on the internet and discovered that it is the Wolf moon, the name given to the first full moon of the year, by the American Indians, which have named all the full moons. Check out the Wolf moon on this link. This year the Wolf moon is 30% brighter and 14 per cent larger than any other full moon for the rest of this year. That is because the moon will be at its perigee—the nearest it gets to our planet during its egg-shaped orbit—for 2010 – at 4:04 a.m. ET, Saturday, at the same time that it is full. Check out this link from National Geographic News. What made this Wolf moon experience extra special is the appearance of Mars at opposition last night—directly opposite to the sun in the sky—so that as the sun set in the southwest, Mars rose in the northeast to the left of the moon.

I’m checking out the waning Wolf moon again tonight. And see if I can find Mars. And thinking about the serendipity of my dear friend’s death. Maybe she didn’t want me to miss experiencing the Wolf moon at its perigree enhanced by the glow of Mars in its opposition to the sun, viewed at its best last night, an hour after sunset. Because if she hadn’t died, then I likely wouldn’t have seen it. And if I am going to continue ‘living’ I should pay more attention to the waxing and waning of the moon. And just gaze more a the sky. Next month I plan to check out the Snow Moon, in its full glory, on February 28. I wonder if the skies will be as clear as they were last night on this Wolf Moon weekend.

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Writer’s Bock

January 25, 2010

Blame it on the … New Year? I just can’t get myself back into gear. I did finally log-on to start another blog post and began with a working title: “New Bog II.” Huh? Freudian slip there? Bogged down with my writing, am I? Geez, I let two months lapse since writing my last blog and now I can’t even spell it? BLOG. There. Call that a new start for an already ‘old-already’ New Year.

Where have I been all year? I recall the frenetic marching of the Christmas Holidays into the New Year. I recall on about January 5th backpedaling five days in my mind to come up with legitimate ‘New Year’s’ resolutions. I was in my car, idling at an interminably long red light, restraining the dog, who was barking furiously, even baring his teeth, at the expressionless lady in the car beside us, when my mind wandered to ponder the state-of-my-life, so far. New Year’s Resolutions? ….. Hmmmm…..How about … “Ditto!” … Done! Green light! I cruised on down the road with steadfast resolve to keep on keepin’ on whatever I was doing, uh, at the beginning of November, was it? Whatever it was I was doing before the Holidays hit, was working for me, at least retrospectively, from the ‘flipped-over-Christmas’ side.

By mid-January I began to suspect that ‘Ditto’ as my New Year Resolutions was not fulfilling it’s purpose in getting me back on line with my life. Where did the first two weeks of January fly to? Beyond frantically ripping down the Christmas decor after our sons left and shoving it all into the basement crevices, and then sucking about 10,000 tree needles out of the carpet into the vacuum, and then successfully unclogging the vacuum, what have I accomplished this year? Hmmm. This exercise is tough on brain cells … A lot of puttering, I guess. I wasn’t so worried about anything until recently, when I glanced in the bathroom mirror and said to myself, looking back at me, “What’s up, Lardass?” Huh? Say what?

Have you ever tried kicking yourself in the butt? It’s physically impossible. Maybe set yourself up in front of a giant, ancient, warfare-sized catapult with a young, strapping catapult operator to crank it (and subsequently you) into action. See if you can be catapulted, preferably out of your skin if you are lazy, and into the skin of a super bright, super achiever. Now, if, at this juncture, you, the reader, are still in need of jump starting yourself into the now-old New Year, but you don’t want to commission the ancient, giant catapult as your medium for advancement, then you might consider plan B: checking out some self-help books at the library.

Which is sort of where I’m at. I found ‘GABB’: The Great American Bathroom Book – Vol. I – a 606-page volume of single-sitting summaries of all-time great books, comprising nine libraries of the classics. Library #2 in this volume contains two-page summaries of about every classic written on ‘Personal Effectiveness.’ I sat and read all the summaries, while watching a football game on T.V. (multitasking!). I had read several of the books. (Like, The Road Less Traveled, by M. Scott Peck, eons ago.) Learn about “The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.” (by S.R. Covey) and “How To Get Control Of Your Time and Your Life” (by Alen Lakein) or “How to Put More Time in Your Life.” (by Dru Scott, PhD.)

Read all those summaries, like I did, and you’ll likely still be as organized or disorganized as ever. But you might feel more knowledgeable about how to get more organized, or feel comforted just looking at the book, knowing that you could become more knowledgeable about getting organized or improving yourself really speedily if you wanted to. Or not. You might find one tip and run with it. For me the tip came from ‘How to Put More Time in Your Life.’ : “Create a list of what you want more of, and less of, in your life.” Right off the bat I can say that I want more closet space in my bedroom and less dog barf deposited on the carpets, without having to kill the dog.

Honestly, I want to write more than one blog entry every two months. With less narcissism. I really don’t want to be catapulted out of my skin. Because I’ll still be stuck with my insides. And if I’m going to decide on more resolutions in the future they’d better be more specific than “Ditto.” That is, if I ever hope to improve myself.

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Lookin’…uh… Good for the Holidays!

November 14, 2009

I want to look good for the holidays – you know – for all those parties and family get-togethers. Well, I’ll have to check my social calendar, but anyway, why wear a glittery, stunning outfit if your glasses are out of style? So, for starters, in preparation for the Holidays and the upcoming New Year, I decided to get a new pair of glasses.

Mind you, I’ve been happy with my rimless, high-index, progressive bifocal, transition-lense glasses that I’ve worn the past three years. It’s risky springing for a new pair — they are so expensive, and it’s tricky fixing all those vision problems — you’d better get it right! With model images like this floating in my brain, I decided to go ‘trendy.’

Not too trendy, mind you. Trendy above the eyes, rimless on the bottom, is what I ended up with. I tried my new glasses on. “How do you like them?” the technician asked.

Well, to be honest, I liked the glasses. It was my face that was a shocker.photo(25) Suddenly all my sags and wrinkles glared at me in high definition – the crows feet at the end of my eyes were etched in 3D! Geez, give me back my old face through my old glasses! Okay. So my up-close vision corrected through my old glasses had blurred. I liked it that way! This is gonna take some doing, getting used to, uh … the coming of old-aged me.

Back home in my new glasses I was staring into the kitchen mirror. I slid my hands to my face where they rested in front of both ears. Then I pressed my hands against the edges of my face and pulled the skin back toward my scalp on both sides. Face lift! That’s what I need! That would pull all those crevices and wrinkles out! Then I could pull off this trendy look!

Moments later I was reading the local paper and stumbled on this add, surely planted for my eyes by Divine providence! It was here to comfort me in my time of grief, to offer me hope and … redemption! Get me focused on solutions! Holy Shit! Where to start? scan0006

Breast augmentation? Well, yeah, like, triple implants thirty-five years ago, maybe, since at my age now my breasts aren’t even sagging, being so tiny as to defy the effects of gravity. Body contouring? What is that? I could go for a two-hour body massage. Liposuction? Yeah, if they could suck off my two extra chins and blow them into my breasts. Juvaderm? Probably could help even if I just said the word, ‘juvaderm,’ slowly and meditatively to my skin over and over… Cosmetic surgery? Obviously, somewhere. Latisse? Is glue involved here? Been there, done that, once. Eyelash implants? Ouch! Eyelash extensions? Face lift? YES. With a 15-year warranty – what about my neck? Radiesse? Based on the ‘actual patient’ in the link, I’d say I’m 30 years too old for this wrinkle reduction treatment to be successful, in that I actually do have wrinkles. Reconstructive surgery? On my hair, for sure. Botox? Are you referring to my anger issues here? Immobilizing my face won’t make them go away. Tummy tuck? You can tuck my thick, gelatinous tummy into bed, anytime, honey. Lastly, Reconstructive hand surgery? Huh? Why reconstructive hand surgery?

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Am I a candidate for reconstructive hand surgery?

Are we talking hand deformity caused by years of wrangling kids, and now grand kids, into proper behavior? Hand deformity caused by long-term exposure to toxic cleansers through endless housekeeping? Or, perhaps … hand deformity caused by an unusually large, unsightly … age spot?

As for lookin’ good for the Holidays, well, updating my glasses was a start. Why not go trendy! As it turns out, my glasses do look trendy. I just look through them. Any transformation I experience toward trendiness or beauty is obviously going to be more of an inside job.

Now I just gotta get me some sparkly Holiday outfits. Oh, and some dates on my social calendar.

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“Phlug” – “Zap!”

November 6, 2009
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Megan and Rudy in October

It amazes me every year how fast fall comes and goes; some years I have missed it. This year I watched the green leaves of early October turn to colors of showy reds, shimmering yellows, and burnt oranges. I’ve watched the leaves cling to their branches against raging winds, as if to cheat death at the height of their brilliant glory — then let go and cascade to the ground. The leaves collect in brittle, colorless heaps that are trampled, scattered, gathered by the wind, raked by humans into piles, and hauled away.

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Trees stand stark naked now. Their branches extend upward like giant broken spiderwebs against the November sky. I am glad Halloween is over. I looked forward to its coming – the season of fall and Halloween – that mysterious time when death whispers through the rustling of the changing leaves and summer blooms blacken with the killing frost. Halloween comes upon us as a time for dress up and innocent fun, but also marks the onset of winter’s gloom. It grew out of a Celtic celebration called Samhain, which originated more than 2000 years ago. The Celts saw it as a fearful time, a time when the boundaries between the living and spirit worlds disappeared, and spirits walked the earth.

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Halloween gets its name from All Hallows’ Eve, as Oct. 31 was called in England centuries ago. On this night people prayed for the dead to prepare for All Saints Day on Nov. 1, to honor Roman Catholic saints and martyrs. All Saints’ Day is followed by All Souls’ Day on November 2, a day to honor and pray for the rest of the departed souls.

We have passed this season now, a time rooted in myths and imaginings, that deepen our experience of the changing weather and our thoughts on the mysteries of life and death.

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On this early November morn I am alive! It is well with my soul. My friends and loved ones are fine. Life is good.

Oh! So why this title, ‘Phlug!” and ‘Zap!” you ask? They are the sounds on the Monday before Halloween, of two squirrels meeting their deaths. I was driving the 25-mph speed limit behind two other cars on a quiet street, when, just ahead on the left, a squirrel began jaunting carelessly across the road. Oh! I thought. Those cars in front of me will surely slow down and make way for that squirrel.

But the first car in our line of three didn’t slow a bit. I hoped the squirrel had remained unharmed. But, nooooo. By the time I got to it, that poor squirrel was writhing in the middle of the road in the throes of death.

Later that same day I was home with our daughter, Megan, when the power went out for about half a second – just long enough to throw off the clocks. “That’s annoying!” I exclaimed.

A few minutes later we took a walk into the park a few blocks away. There we saw a city truck hoisting a guy in a cup to fix the power lines. Walking toward us was another city worker holding a furry creature in his gloved hands. As he came close we realized he was holding a squirrel – upside down, stiff as a statue, with it’s eyes and mouth frozen wide open. “Electrocuted.” he said. “Squirrels are chewing on those power lines.” Yeah, I thought, they are busy scrounging up insulation to winterize their nests.

I told my husband, David, about how I had experienced the death of two squirrels in one day, which was creepy, so close to Halloween.

Last night we were sitting in our den, relaxing in front of the TV, when the power went out for about half a second – just long enough to shut everything off and back on again. I glanced at David and we both said, “Squirrel!”

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How many squirrels from that nest are still alive?


Squirrels are working hard this time of year, just like us, preparing their nesting places for the the onset of winter’s wrath. I just wish humans would slow down, and make way for the earth’s little creatures, in respect for their resourceful, industrious lives, even if they are just … squirrels.

No sense assisting the Grim Reaper.

Me? I’ll take another ’24’.

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